FO4 One Shots: Beth Chronicles
by iamfrom101
Summary: This is where I occasionally drop a one shot here and there. Fallout 4, of course, as assumed by the title. I'd appreciate any feedback you guys are willing to give!
1. Deathclaw Encounter

_A/N: I've been writing an actual plot-driven fic in the same universe as this one shot. If you guys wouldn't mind, drop a review and let me know if you'd be interested in reading it. I'm no where near done, and I'd like to mass-upload, but feedback is always good. Keep it short if you want, I just want to know your thoughts._

 _Thanks :)_

Deathclaw Encounter

MacCready POV

The Coastal Cottage. I'm not even sure why she wanted to come here. She said she wanted to go out for an adventure yesterday. So here we are. We stopped for a brief break inside the hole in the backyard of the broken down house for what seemed like five seconds. But she insisted on trekking north still.

 _God, my feet hurt. Will she ever stop?_ But she just keeps going. She makes jokes about being like something called the "Energizer Bunny." Whatever that is. Sounds like it was way before her time even.

"Beth, are we ever going to rest? My feet hurt like hell back here," I call out to my companion, my partner in crime, my wife.

She turns back to face me, pausing her northern advance for a bit, and just smiles her devious grin I've come to recognize all too well in the past half year I've known her. "Why? We took a break at the cottage. Isn't that enough?" She faces north again and takes off seemingly faster than before.

"C'mon, babe. You're killing me." I hear her laugh at me without a backward glance. "What are we even out here for?"

"I told you yesterday. Adventure." I hear the smile in her voice as she slows her pace considerably to let me catch up with her. Once I'm at her side—and finally at a walking speed—she looks at me and grins again. _What does she have planned?_

"We're not out here for an adventure, are we, Beth?"

"No, we are," she looks at me with big eyes. The same eyes she had when we met. But these are not full of fear, but rather feigned innocence. I know her better than that.

"Not the free roam kind though, huh." It wasn't even a question.

Looking forward—away from my face—she giggles under her breath like a little girl. "Maybe."

"There's not too much Commonwealth left north of here," I muse aloud. I pull out a reporter style voice. "What could she be after? Possible riches, overlooked by many over the past two centuries, or perhaps a secret hideout where she stashes all her teddy bears?" The last part made her laugh harder than I've heard her laugh in a few weeks. "Seriously, why do you keep all those teddy bears you come across out here?"

She calms herself down a bit before answering me. "I don't know. Maybe it's because I've always liked them. I had a _huge_ collection when I was growing up. My dad brought one home every time he came back from his business trips. I guess he was away a lot." She shrugs as if it didn't bother her.

"It didn't upset you, him being gone all the time?"

"Not really," she shakes her head. "My mom and I were very close, so sometimes I forgot he was even gone."

"I'd notice." She turns to look at me, stopping completely in her tracks. "What?" It was as if I said something that offended her.

She responds with, "You sounded so sad when you said that." I walk back to her, because it didn't look like she'd be moving anytime soon.

"Well, I would," I say. "Growing up without parents…it'd be hard to not notice their absence." She finally is mobile again. Moving toward me, she wraps her arms around me and leans her head on my chest.

"I'm sorry, Robert. If I could change it, you know I would." As I wrap my arms around her, I hear a noise in the distance. Cutting our embrace short, I let her go and drop down into a crouch, pulling her by the arm to join me near the ground. Seeing my cautiousness, she moves so close that our knees touch. "What is it?" She whispers. A few months under a year in this wasteland, and her ears still haven't gained quite the expertise needed for catching the little things. At least not in comparison to mine, having the lifetime I've had out here.

"Not sure," I whisper back. "It's been a while since I've been in this area. I don't remember what's around here." I hear the same sound again. Focusing my hearing on it, I say, "Almost sounds like something scratching the dirt." I hear a snort. A very reptile-like snort. "Deathclaw."

"How can you be so sure?" She asks. I just give her a _Really? You're gonna question this sniper's ears?_ look, so she follows up with a quick, "Okay, okay." I get out my plasma infused assault rifle as she pulls out her high-power gauss rifle.

"Well, let's go get 'em." I move toward the noise, still crouched.

"Are you crazy? It hasn't noticed us. Let's just keep going." She looks to the west.

" _You_ wanted to go this way," I say pointing north, pointing toward the deathclaw. "Besides, you said you wanted adventure. Nothing says 'adventure' like charging a mutated lizard with deadly rifles and war screams." I once again take off, leaving her staring after me with a look that says she must think I'm nuts. Well, she's right.

Moments later, I hear her tread about two feet behind me. "Let me ahead," she says, still whispering. I know how desperate she has been to use that gauss rifle of hers, having found it on a Railroad agent's corpse a couple weeks ago. It's saved our butts more than a few times out here. I slow my advance to let her pass. Hearing the reptile snort again, I can't help but to notice how close we are to it. It's just around the face of the rock we're hiding behind. She turns back to look at me. "Well you said war screams."

She springs up from behind the rock, and takes my statement quite literally as she runs toward the dinosaur doppelganger. Screaming at it in her own impression of a gladiator, she fires into its face with her 2mm electromagnetic ammunition. It clearly was not expecting us, as it rises as high as its legs will take it toward the sky and roars so loud I wonder if my ears will start bleeding.

Beth is now running backward, away from the beast, and continues firing into it with her rifle. It seems to be slowing down, but is still quite mobile as it barrels toward her on all fours. As it is about to sink its claws into her, she makes a quick U-turn and starts heading the other direction, back toward me. As I come out of my _I can't believe she actually did that_ stupor, I start firing into the monster as well.

Beth is about seven feet from me when she runs back-first into a cluster of trees. I continue shooting the deathclaw as it closes in on her. "Oh, no you don't!" She still hasn't gotten her bearings together when it is at her feet. He grabs her by the neck with its grubby left mitt, raising her into the air like some kind of repulsive twist on a parent raising their newborn into the air. Except it doesn't gently toss her or make silly faces. It raises its right hand, and however impossible, grows its nails even larger and longer than before.

The next five seconds go by in slow motion.

The deathclaw sinks its nails into Beth's stomach. In and out. It couldn't have taken two seconds, but it felt like an eternity. "Noooo!" I scream, grabbing the gauss rifle lying a foot from my boot. It must have gotten thrown when that thing picked her up. I load extra power into the metal projectile, aim for its head, and fire. It goes down with a loud and heavy thud, seeming to purr out its last breath of life.

I throw the rifle down and run to Beth, now lying on the ground next to the trees that condemned her in the first place. This is when time starts to speed up, far past its earthly tempo. It's almost as if I'm on a reverse Jet kind of chem, making time pass a lot faster. Hurling myself onto my knees, I look at her. Not just her face, scrunched up in writhing agony, but also the gigantic gashes, streaming blood much faster than they would have been, would it had been a gunshot wound. "Beth…" I wanted to yell it, but my voice barely came out in a whisper. As I look her over, I'm not sure what to do. I reach the horrifying conclusion: stimpaks would not even help this.

I lay my hand on her arm, still unsure what to do. Looking at her face, I notice she opens her eyes and looks at me. I didn't think she could feel my touch. "RJ." Her voice is so small, I'm not sure if I heard it or imagined it.

"I'm here." I say, trying my best to keep my cool. It doesn't matter—the tears come anyway. "I'm here."

"Take care of Dogmeat. You're the only one he has left now." She voice is so raspy. It matches the wheezing when she breathes, as ragged and uneven as it is.

"No, you're gonna make it, Elizabeth." One of my tears lands on her arm so I wipe it away with my fingers, gentle as a breeze. "You're gonna—"

"Stop," she says.

"No, you're gonna make it. We'll get back home and—"

"No, stop calling me Elizabeth. I told you I hate that name." Even on her deathbed, she jokes. She smiles faintly and chuckles lightly. This causes her too much pain, so she cuts it short, making a tortured face. As her pants for air become farther apart, she says, " _You_ have to find Shaun now." She grabs my hand with what seems to be all her might, although it could have been a feather for all I knew. "You have to tell him how much his father and I loved him, that we died trying to keep him safe—"

"You're not going to die!" I claim.

She looks bored at me, waits a second, and then says, "Interrupting is rude. It's like you were raised in a cave or something." She smiles again, leaving the chuckle out this time. She continues, "Raise him for me. You're doing good with Duncan. Give him a brother. Make him into the young man I can't."

"I…I…" I can't seem to get away from blabbering.

"I love you, baby. You know that?"

I finally find my voice. "I love you, Beth. More than anything." Each word rings with truth and purpose, louder than any of my other attempts at English.

With a smile on her lips, and looking into my eyes, she takes her last breath and becomes still.

She's no more.

I lost Lucy the same way—by her being ripped apart right in front of me. Why would the greater powers allow Beth to be taken from me gracefully? _Let's make her get murdered in a similar fashion,_ they must've thought. _Let's make this guy witness both of his wives' horrific deaths._

I let go all of the tension built up inside me and scream as loud as I can, not even caring what or who could be listening. Still holding her lifeless hand, I lean over her and sob so hard I am physically shaking. Almost as if someone is doing the shaking for me.

"Robert!" In the extreme back of my head, I think, _At least whoever is out here knows me. Maybe I won't die today._ But if I'm being completely honest, I wouldn't complain if it were my last day on this blackened planet.

"Robert, honey!" The voice seems closer now. And it sounds like… Beth. If ghosts do exist, she's being incredibly heartless right now. _Give me some time to mourn first!_

I stop shaking, but my eyes are still closed and leaking liquid sorrow. I feel Beth's hand in my own, but it doesn't feel lifeless as it did a second ago. It's warm and holding onto me with utmost effort. I realize that I'm neither on my knees nor on the cold, hard ground. But rather I'm lying on my back on a soft surface.

"RJ, sweetie?" She continues calling to me in a worried tone.

I finally find my eyelids and open them. I'm looking at the ceiling of our bedroom. In our house on Spectacle Island. Lying on our bed with blankets strewn across it as if someone had been tossing all night.

I look to my left—to Beth's side of the bed.

Not only is she there, but she had risen herself up onto her elbow, looking down at me with blue eyes scared as all hell, her blonde hair disheveled. "Baby? Are you okay? You had me worried."

Relieved to see her alive, I grab her—almost too roughly—and pull her to my chest, holding her there in my arms. Burying my nose in her hair, I smell her life scent. The aura that is just _her_. We lay there in that position for what feels like hours when she raises her head up looking me in the eye. "Whatever happened in nightmareland must have been really bad. You started crying in your sleep." She tucks herself into the crook of my arm, settling against my side in a content manner. "That's not even counting your screaming. That's what woke me up. I thought Raiders had swum all the way out here to murder us or something." She looks up at me from her resting place against my lungs, which had at last started slowing from their rapid air flow. "You're not gonna tell me, huh." It wasn't a question. She knows me all too well.

I shake my head, not trusting my vocals. She goes back to her previous position. "That's alright," she says. "I understand. I've had those kinds of dreams before." She starts drawing circles on my stomach with her left index finger. "But if you ever want to talk about it, you know I'm here… I won't bring it up." She lays her hand flat where she had drawn a good twenty circles. This is her way of bringing the subject to a close. I decide to say something important, vocals be damned.

"I love you, Beth. More than anything."


	2. Having Worth

_A/N: I've had to upload this chapter far too many times due to my finding mistakes. But, I believe I've worked out all the kinks. We shall see._

 _So, this chapter actually ties in with my main fic. If you're one of those who are looking forward to the full-fledged fanfiction, just know that it is coming. I'm almost done with it_ — _I think. But, yeah. This one shot is nicely nestled up between chapters two and three, so keep that in mind when reading it._

 _Also, I use songs as inspiration when writing, so if you happen to see a title and artist, check it out—because it gives the reader a better look into the story I'm trying to create. The horizontal lines just signify a change in time, attitude, or point of view. Nothing too extreme._

 _I adore your reviews, so don't be shy to drop me one on here. I always look forward to them! :)_

 _I'd love it if you came and said hi on Tumblr: iamfrom101_

* * *

Having Worth

Beth POV

Shortly after hiring MacCready, I couldn't help but notice how cynical he could be. Whether it be somebody mouthed off to him, or even him saying something he thought was dumb—he's constantly hard on himself.

When he stopped me in Goodneighbor, and wanted to know why I hired him as an extra gun, I couldn't tell him. How could I? I still find it hard to think about, nonetheless talk about it. So, he still doesn't know—even as we've been on the move continuously for about a week—and haven't been too far from each other since grouping up.

At the moment, we're not too far from Fort Hagen—a place I really don't wanna get too close to. Since I'd been there with Nate a couple times, I don't want to relive the memories. So, MacCready and I went around it and found a small, but nice, shack on the face of a cliff. Whoever was here before apparently thought it'd be cool to launch off some giant canisters, as there are two lined up, ready to go. But, the shack seems to have been abandoned, so it shall be our shelter for the night.

"You can have the bed, Beth," MacCready tells me as he sits down on the chair at the foot of it. "I'll take first watch."

"We're probably far out enough to be safe for the night. You might as well get some sleep yourself."

He shakes his head. "You never know."

"I'm sure it'll be fine—"

"I said I'll keep an eye out." His tone leaves me staring at him. _Did he have to be so harsh?_ He looks at me like he knows his tone was aggressive, but says nothing besides, "Just… get some rest. I'll let you know if I get tired enough." He turns his face the other direction, looking out toward the city.

"Okay." I lay down on the bed, facing the wall. _Well, that was weird. Like I know him very well, but after a week, I know that was odd of him. Wonder what caused it…_

* * *

I've gotten used to waking up every few hours since leaving the vault a couple months back. I was already sort of used to it due to Shaun needing feeding through the night—I'm just glad it continued. It's nice to wake up ever so often, knowing you're not dead.

I realize MacCready hasn't gotten any sleep yet, and since I feel rested enough, I decide to take watch. "Hey, MacCready." I stand and rub my eyes, letting them adjust. "I'm ready to switch if you are—" What lies before me cuts my words off instantly.

He sitting on the edge of the "window sill," or whatever it's called—a bottle of some sort in one hand, a pistol in the other. He glances back at me for a second, only to face the other way again. "Well, you're going to be keeping watch for a _long_ while, if I go through with it. So you might as well get some more sleep." His words are slurring greatly, showing just how much of the alcohol he'd already gone through.

"Where did you get that?" I ask him, not even sure if I mean the gun or the liquor.

"This?" He holds up the latter of my two guesses. "This was under this shed here. Somebody thought they stashed it in a good place. They were wrong." He takes one last pull from the bottle before throwing it into the night. It takes several seconds for me to hear it shatter against a rock, somewhere far off from us. "But as for the gun," he waves it above his head. "It was under the bed. Full magazine and everything." He takes it out and checks it again—like a pro, even in his intoxicated state.

"What are you planning on doing with it?" I ask him, nervous why he's acting this way.

"Not sure yet," he says. "I might use this, I might jump. I haven't made up my mind yet."

"You want to commit suicide?" I ask, my voice shrill—probably too loud in case of hostiles in the area.

"What else would happen if I shot myself or jumped off this thing? I'd probably die, so yeah."

I remember Nate having told me in the past that he'd had to save one of his squad's lives from suicide. He said how if he went to them fast, trying to physically stop them, they'd see it as a threat and do it sooner. If you tried to talk them out of it, they might do it sooner. The best bet would be to talk about the problem—to try and make them see the reason isn't a good enough one to take their life.

"MacCready—I don't see why you'd want to do that." Even though I feel my mind wanting to pull me closer, in hopes of stopping him, I stay where I am. "What could be so bad that you'd want to die?"

"I'm a failure," he says, dejection very evident in his voice. "Everything I've ever done, everybody I've ever cared for. Nothing turns out good, and it's all because of me."

"I'm sure there were always other reasons for those situations to turn out poorly, or for those people to be gone. Nothing is on you." Although I know I shouldn't, my foot edges forward, taking me one step closer to him—one step closer to possibly stopping him or pushing him to do it.

"Oh, yeah? You ever have something happen so bad to you that you just want to die? Like, an important person in your life is taken from you—killed in front of you?" _How does he know?_ I feel my eyes widen. He must see this as he looks back at me, because he says, "Yeah, so that happened." He faces me a little more, turning his body ever so slightly away from the view of the city he's been staring at for who knows how long.

"You want to talk about it?" I ask, noticing my voice sounding small. "Maybe it'll help…"

"What? Like a shrink? Hell no." He holds the pistol up, looking at it seemingly in a different way. "You know, I think I made up my mind. She didn't die quick—so I shouldn't either." He turns back to me once more, tossing me the firearm. "Those aren't too easy to come by. Maybe you can use it, or sell it to hire another merc. I hate to do this to you—cause it seemed important that you hire me—but I can't do this anymore." He faces the city and scoots forward, ready to fall off the edge of the sill and down the cliff.

"MacCready, no!" I lunge forward and grasp the material of his shirt as he falls.

* * *

MacCready POV

I've been thinking that she should know. But I just can't tell her—how could I? I can just imagine how it'd go now. I'd tell her, "So, this thing happened, and I've been really depressed for a really long time." She probably wouldn't take too well to that, and just fire me on the spot. So, my depression would get worse, I'd slum back to wherever, get news that he's died, and just kill myself. _Why not just do it now?_ My inner demons taunt me. _Make it easier for everyone, and do it. Right now._ "Shut up," I whisper to them, too quiet for Beth to hear as she leads the way to tonight's shelter.

We're near Fort Hagen, and although I mentioned taking refuge in it would be safer than most alternatives, she refuses and continues on. She finally spots a shack not too far from us, and we make our way there for the night.

"You can have the bed, Beth. I'll take first watch." I take a seat on the chair at the foot of the bed I speak of.

She looks at me with reluctance in her eyes. "We're probably far out enough to be safe for the night. You might as well get some sleep yourself."

I shake my head at her. _I need some alone time._ "You never know."

"I'm sure it'll be fine—"

I feel myself snap. "I said I'll keep an eye out." She stares at me with a slightly concerned, slightly scared expression. I know I should apologize, but can't bring myself to do it. "Just… get some rest. I'll let you know if I get tired enough." I turn and face the "window," or at least where some canisters are prepared to take off like rockets, yet never will.

"Okay." I hear Beth climb into the bed and go silent. I take the chance of stealing a glance back at her. I see she's facing the wall—her best attempt to look away from me. _I shouldn't have done that…_

* * *

It's had to been at least an hour since Beth passed out. I look down to my watch and see the time: half past midnight. _I was right. About an hour,_ I think. I can hear Beth's soft snores behind me, and I'm glad she can sleep so well. _I haven't slept that good in four years. Too busy waking up from nightmares, or not even being able to sleep in the first place. I don't know how I've functioned this whole time._ I think back to my home in the Capital Wasteland, back to my only reason for living—and even that is being threatened at the moment. _What if he doesn't make it?_ I've asked myself that same question for far too long now. At least half a year—I've lost track of time up here. _Kate's got it under control. She has to…_ She's always been a strong woman—someone everybody looks up to. _I don't know how she does it._

I hear Beth stir behind me and look back to her as she flips onto her other side, her snoring resuming within seconds. _What could be so important to her that she'd hire a complete stranger to keep her safe?_ I feel my legs starting to go numb from lack of movement for so long. So, I stand and quietly walk out the door, noticing a pistol lying underneath the bed Beth is sleeping on. I make my way down the ramp leading into the shack and around the corner, looking toward the city still—just from the outside this time. _I wonder who used to live here, and why they left their gun behind._ Although I am curious, I don't care enough to linger on the thought for too long.

As I'm walking around the small building, I notice a gleam in the moonlight. Bending down to investigate, I see a bottle of moonshine. _Well, hello._ I pick it up and pull the cork out, throwing it over the edge of the small cliff the shack sits on. Taking a long drink from the bottle, I can't help but to cough when I come up for air. _This shi—er, crap's strong._ I glance around the area—and once I'm happy to see nothing dangerous around—I slip back inside the shed where my boss sleeps. Just in case something comes in behind me, I grab the pistol. That way, the pistol can't be used against me, and I have something else besides my sniper rifle. _They don't always work close range. Need to get something else for that._ I sit back down in the chair I'd been sitting in and set the pistol next to me, ready for use.

* * *

A couple hours later, I find that I'm not only at the end of my bottle of moonshine, but that I'm also sitting on the edge of the window, staring out into the night with the pistol in my hand. _I had way too much,_ I think as I take another drink—maybe two or three more drinks left in it. _I've been awake too long._ I glance back at Beth, still soundly asleep. _I don't wanna wake her up. She's sleeping too good right now._

I continue to stare toward what used to be Boston. _The light Diamond City puts off is nice. Too bright, though. Way to go unnoticed, guys._ I take another drink.

 _I don't want to be awake right now—don't wanna be alive, really._ Being alone for the past three hours or so hasn't done me any good. Although Beth doesn't know me that well, she's still nice to talk to. It's what we've been doing this past week—talking, getting to know each other. Because if something is important, it's that you know your employer and they know you. That's something I've learned in the past. But, there is _something_ I haven't learned in the past very well: how to protect those around you.

 _I really suck at that. You know that, MacCready. You really suck at that,_ I think to myself. I think back to _her,_ to _him._ _Just can't do it, can you?_ My thoughts take on another person's perspective—other than me talking to myself—and it's actually kinda mean. _You couldn't protect them. What makes you think you can protect blondie over there? Just because she payed you doesn't change the fact that you're useless._ "Shut up," I whisper, hearing just how drunk I've gotten by slurring my utterance. _He's gonna die,_ the voice continues, _and there's nothing you can do about it._ "Shut up," I say louder—loud enough for Beth's snores to cut off somewhat. _Now you did it…_ The voice fades off, and I'm glad to be rid of it.

However, it being gone doesn't mean its words are gone. They replay over and over in my head, refusing to leave me alone.

 _You're useless._

 _He's gonna die._

 _Couldn't protect them._

 _You suck at that._

"Shut up!" I end up yelling, completely waking my boss up. _Doesn't matter,_ I think. _I've been wanting to do this for a long time now. Doesn't matter if she tries to stop me. It won't work. Nothing can._

"Hey, MacCready. I'm ready to switch if you are—" Her words cut off once she sees me. I look back at her, and her expression matches that of what I thought she'd be wearing. _It doesn't matter,_ I repeat to myself.

"Well, you're going to be keeping watch for a _long_ while, if I go through with it. So, you might as well get some more sleep." I know my slurring may have made me hard to understand, but I don't care. _Didn't really want her to know all that._ I've always said too much when drunk—and this instance is no different.

"Where did you get that?" She asks quietly, and I'm not even sure which one she means.

I hold up my near empty bottle of booze. "This? This was under this shed here. Somebody thought they stashed it in a good place. They were wrong." I take the last drink and chuck it from my perch. It takes several seconds before I hear it break against a rock somewhere far from here. _Wow. Either that's a far drop, or I'm pretty strong when I'm smashed._

"But as for the gun," I continue, waving it above my head. "It was under the bed. Full magazine and everything." I take the clip out and check again—although I must have a hundred times already.

"What are you planning on doing with it?" She asks me, a nervous edge to her tone.

"Not sure yet. I might use this, I might jump. I haven't made up my mind yet." _There I go again with over-informing. Ah, forget trying to keep it a secret._

"You want to commit suicide?" Her voice is high-pitched, loud.

"What else would happen if I shot myself or jumped off this thing? I'd probably die, so yeah." I know I'm being really sarcastic, but at this point—what does it matter?

She stays planted where she is—either deliberately or because she's just shocked about it. "MacCready," she starts, "I don't see why you'd want to do that. What could be so bad that you'd want to die?"

 _If only she knew._ I decide to sum it up for her. "I'm a failure. Everything I've ever done, everybody I've ever cared for. Nothing turns out good, and it's all because of me."

"I'm sure there were always other reasons for those situations to turn out poorly," she tells me. "Or for those people to be gone. Nothing is on you." _If only she knew,_ I think again as she comes closer by a single step.

"Oh, yeah? You ever have something happen so bad to you that you just want to die? Like, an important person in your life is taken from you—killed in front of you?" Her eyes widen—either because she knows what I mean, or it's possibly happened to her. "Yeah, so that happened." I turn to face her slightly, but still on the edge, ready to jump at a moment's notice.

"You want to talk about it? Maybe it'll help…" She asks me, although I can barely hear it. Might be cause of the ringing in my ears, might be cause of how quiet she said it.

"What? Like a shrink? Hell no." I finally make up my mind. Holding up the pistol in my hand, I say, "You know, I think I made up my mind. She didn't die quick—so I shouldn't either." I face her once more, tossing her the gun. "Those aren't too easy to come by. Maybe you can use it, or sell it to hire another merc. I hate to do this to you—cause it seemed important that you hire me—but I can't do this anymore." I face toward the city again, and scoot until I feel the window sill no longer under me.

"MacCready, no!" She yells, dashing forward in time to catch the fabric of my shirt.

* * *

Beth POV

 _F**kin' Perfect_ by P!nk

The adrenaline of the moment must have given me the extra strength I needed to pull MacCready's body from the fall. It took a lot of pulling—to which he begged me to release him—but I managed to get him back in the shack.

As he now lies on the floor, he tells me, "You should have just dropped me. It wasn't worth your effort. … _I'm_ not worth your effort…"

I stand from the floor myself—having been flung onto it when I succeeded in pulling him up. "You are worth my effort. You have worth" I argue. "There is no reason—no situation—bad enough for you to take your own life. Besides, I won't have it, because I _need_ you out here. And I'm sure there's someone out there who needs you, too. So, do not give up. Do not. Give up.

"I'm your boss, right? No need to keep such a formal relationship between us. If you need help, I can give you help. I care for you as a person—I'm not like those people before the War, the one's that care for their employees only as numbers. Uh-uh—no, sir. You, MacCready, have worth. And we're not leaving this shed until you _promise_ me that you won't do something like that again.

"I've already lost so much… I can't lose someone else. So, don't make me have to deal with another death, because I don't think I can."

He looks at me from his spot on the floor for what seems like hours. His face shows no emotion other than the depression that caused all this in the first place. But when he looks away, his expression shifts—depression turns to brief anger, but then changes again into him _acting_ on that sadness. He rolls onto his side and starts sobbing.

I want to let him know it'll all be okay—whatever the thing is that's been bothering him—but not even knowing what it is, it'd be hard to. I want to comfort him in some way—my motherly instinct taking over—but realize it'd be too weird, too awkward, so I don't. I just decide to sit down on the chair at the foot of the bed since it's close to him.

I don't know what else to do, so I just to sit here. Sometimes, somebody just being around helps. He continues to lay on the floor, crying his eyes out. Eventually, his tears stop, and—he's so tired from the long night—that he passes out, right there where he landed when I pulled him up from the window. I'm just happy to see him sleeping, safe from doing something stupid like that again.

* * *

MacCready POV

I wake up in the morning with a start—from that feeling you get when you're asleep, like you're falling. But what's in front of me doesn't add up to what I remember.

I'm sitting up in the bed, Beth kicked back as far as she can manage in the armchair at the foot of it. She's fast asleep.

I stand up and feel a pounding in my head. "Ugh. Been a while, Hangover," I greet it with a solemn attitude. _Wait. Hangover? Did I get drunk last night?_ I honestly can't remember much past me taking first watch.

"Hey, Beth." I go up to her and shake her shoulder gently. "Beth?" She opens her eyes sleepily.

"What is it?" She becomes more alert. "Are you okay?" She stands quickly, glancing around the small room before picking up a pistol and putting it between her vaultsuit and her leather armour she slept in.

"Yeah, I guess so," I say. "Feels like I have a hangover, but I don't remember drinking last night. What happened?"

I see a look cross her face before disappearing. It almost seemed like she has a secret she's keeping. "Uh, yeah. You did drink last night actually. You found a bottle of God-knows-what, and drank all of it." She chuckles, although it sounds forced. "You got pretty sozzled honestly."

"Oh. Well, that explains my pounding headache. But I don't even remember you taking watch and me crashing."

"Probably because you were drunk. Sounds like you don't remember a whole lot from last night, huh?"

I shake my head, only to stop due to the extra pain it causes. Yet, I can't help my thoughts as they go other places. _What did I do? Did_ we _do anything?_ My worry at this apparently shows on my face, and she guesses right when she tells me, "Nothing happened between us, if that's what you're thinking." She chuckles at my sigh of relief.

Although it's morning, she still looks incredibly tired. "Maybe you should go back to sleep. I'm sure that chair wasn't very comfortable to sleep in. You can have the bed back." As soon as I'm done talking, she's looking at me with a strange look in her eye, like she's inspecting me. Once she sees my confusion as to why she's doing that, she smiles, satisfied with whatever she found on my face.

"Okay. Wake me up after an hour, if you would. We need to get traveling north soon." She goes and lays on the bed, passing out after a couple minutes.

So, here I am, sitting in the very chair I started the night out in. I look down to the floor and see a big wet spot. _Odd,_ I think. _What could have caused that?_ I take a drink from one of the water bottles we carry with us and realize I'm parched as hell is. I slam the entire thing back, blaming my thirst to my being dehydrated due to drinking. I look back down to the wet spot, and then it hits me.

 _I did that last night._

I remember it all now: my being depressed, finding the moonshine and pistol, Beth finding me sitting on the edge of the window, her catching my shirt and pulling me back up somehow…

I look back to the woman behind me—my employer, and ultimately, my saviour. _You have worth,_ she'd told me. _I've already lost so much… I can't lose someone else._

She pulled me up from the window, and then put me in the bed—with all that adrenaline pumping, she must have been able to do it—and told me she cared for me. And that someone else is bound to care for me, too. _How right she was._ I think back home, again, to my only reason for living.

I look back to my rescuer, my _friend_. _Maybe he's not the only reason to live._ Right here and now, I promise myself to never attempt suicide again. _I owe Beth that much._


	3. In the Beginning

_A/N: Ever wonder what happened to Beth during that first month out in the wasteland before she met MacCready? This one-shot fills in the blanks. It ties in perfectly with my main fic,_ A Second Chance, _right before it even starts in chapter one. Yet, it can also stand alone, hence it being placed here.  
_ _I actually wrote this for homework, believe it or not. My theatre class required a five-page paper be written, purely creative writing. Since I'd already been working on my fic, I figured I'd go ahead and continue the story. I needed some ideas, so I consulted my cousin, who also plays FO4. Shoutout to her, big time, for the ideas she'd given me.  
Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

In the Beginning…

Beth POV

My name is Beth. Once upon a time, I had a last name—but that doesn't really matter now. I've learned to accept that I am a nobody—just like everyone else around me.

A great deal of us still live here in Boston—er, I mean the Commonwealth. I've yet to get used to the newest terminology since the Great War in 2077. Waking up two hundred and ten years later sure does _not_ help the confusion or disorientation factor. So, if I do the math, I guess that places me in… 2287? Wow. Time flies when your frozen in cryostasis after a nuclear bomb drops and starts a worldwide apocalypse.

Leaving Vault 111—my home for the past two centuries—was… I have no words. It was horrific, to say the least. Since my home before the War was just down the hill from the vault, Sanctuary Hills—where I lived—was the first thing I saw. To see my home, my neighbors' homes, the cul-de-sac, _everything_ , in disrepair—to see all our living spaces ransacked, our possessions stolen—it was almost too much to handle. I nearly skipped going into my community of the past. But, I decided to persevere.

* * *

I wander through what used to be the streets of Lexington. I remember coming here when I was a kid with my mom, and Dad when he was home from working out of state. We used to go to this great pizza place called Tommy's. Best hand-tossed crust anybody had the privilege of tasting. But now that I see it, over two centuries later, I can't help but to feel melancholy in remembering those times. Even the times I suggested Nate and I go there for our dates. Although the memories make me smile, I still feel a tear running down my cheek.

I've been out in this wasteland for about two weeks or so now. Luckily, I haven't had very many run-ins with people—from what I've heard, most everybody is out to kill you for the things you carry, if not just for the sport of it. Before leaving the vault, I managed to snag a baton and 10mm pistol from one of the security guards' skeletons. And as I am still in Lexington, two weeks later, I finally run into one of the most intimidating groups of people on this side of the apocalypse—Raiders.

I'm scrambling around some old car parts littering the street outside the Corvega Assembly Plant, when I hear one of them call out to me. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?" I dare not peek over the shell of car from a bygone era— _What if they have a gun?_ I think. "Come out of there!" They continue to call. "I'll make it nice and quick. You can trust me." Their voice—their feigned innocence—tells me they plan otherwise. I'd seen some of their handiwork around the place—the bodies hanging from hooks, like their sick way of displaying trophies.

 _There's only two ways out of this. Stand up for myself, or die a coward._ I think about my late husband—how he died trying to save our three-month-old son. Who would I be if I just gave up right here? Did I not promise him I'd find our son, taken from us by those kidnappers—the ones who killed him? I choose the first option. I stand, aim, and shoot, then quickly scan the area in search of more hostiles. Nothing. Before my search is even over, in the back of my head, I register the quiet thud of a dropped, dead body.

I just killed a human being.

Now that I know nobody is around, wanting to kill _me_ , I'm able to freak out. I drop back down to where I was hiding, behind the burned-out car. I try to keep it together, but don't really know how. _How am I supposed to do this? Nate should have been the one to live,_ I think. _Why'd it have to be me to survive? I don't know how to do this!_ I should be at home right now, cooking dinner in my kitchen—or at work, in my cozy office at the law firm I opened with my friend from college. _I shouldn't have to be here…_

* * *

I remember growing up. Just my mom, dad, and myself. I didn't have any brothers or sisters, although my cousin _could_ have counted toward a brother, we were so close. I remember getting the news that he died in Anchorage during the War—it was a hard week for me. But I had a comfortable up bringing—loving parents that were decently wealthy, the ability to go to law school right out of Boston High. I didn't realize how well I had it back then.

I remember how Mom's sister would make us go to church with her on Easter Sunday. None of us really enjoyed the service, but we liked to make Aunt June happy. And her ham! That was what really made going to church worth it: being able to go back to Aunt June's house and eat her Easter Dinner, and then playing with my cousin in the backyard until it was time to go back home.

Those were the good days. Why couldn't they have lasted longer?

* * *

I slum back to where I'd holed up for the past few weeks—Starlight Drive-In, behind the giant screen, in the "manager's office," or whatever it used to be. _I still can't believe I killed someone._ I know how I operate—I'll be thinking of that event for a long time. The smell of the gun as it went off, the near-silent thump of their body falling to the ground… the look in my victim's lifeless eyes…

I'm glad nobody comes around here anymore—well, at least it _seems_ like nobody does. Why would an old drive-in theatre pique anyone's interest? Except for me, of course.

I grab an old can of pork n' beans—"old" _hardly_ covering its age. _I used to buy cans just like this at the store all the time. Been a while since those stores have been open._ Although the flavor of the product itself has all but gone bad, I eat it anyway—I'm just happy to have found it in the first place. Food is scarce—far more difficult to come across these days. I've seen what I assume is a mutated version of deer—with two heads and grungy-looking fur—but I can't bring myself to shoot them. I've never _had_ to hunt my whole life—even if I _have_ to, I really don't want to start now.

 _I hate this,_ I think to myself. _Here I am, cowering in a shed, waiting for… what? I'm not doing anything. If Nate were here in my place, he'd be out there right now, looking for Shaun._ I think about my infant son, out there somewhere. _I'm coming, baby._

* * *

I left the safety of Starlight earlier this morning—at least three weeks after escaping the vault—and am now heading toward the shell of what used to be Boston. I've heard the city is the most dangerous place in the entire Commonwealth. But if that's where the people are, that must be where Shaun is, too. I decide to travel along the freeway, or at least what's still here. I end up seeing signs for a place called Goodneighbor, and decide to start my search there.

As I walk through the makeshift gate in the makeshift fence around the so-called town, I'm greeted by a tall man, saying his name is Finn. He practically threatens me to give him all my money—bottlecaps at currency?—before a man with what seems to be a melted face interferes and ushers me into town, away from the thief-to-be. He tells me a good place to start would be the Third Rail—a bar of sorts, situated in an old subway station under the Old State House that Goodneighbor is settled around.

"Another merc." One of the townspeople say under their breath. A bit louder, "Are you looking for MacCready? He's in the back room." I don't know what or who they're talking about, but I decide to investigate. Going toward the room they point to, I hear a conversation between two men—or rather a conversation bordering on argument. I've always been the nosy type, so I peek around the corner to see not two, but three men, engaged in conversation—two standing, one sitting.

As one of the standing men—who is actually really tall—says something about taking jobs in the Commonwealth, the one who is sitting looks in my direction and makes brief eye contact. I might be nosy, but I'm not one to be the center of attention—so I back up, out of sight. The men finish their conversation, then the two which were standing leave the room, almost bumping into me, and shouting, "Watch it!" I squeak out a small apology before they are gone. This is when the other man—the one sitting in the back of the room—calls to me.

"Hey, you over there!" I poke my head around the corner again, and see he's staring right at me.

"Me?" I ask.

"Yeah. What do you want?" He seems a bit angry. Although, with the fight he nearly got into, I wouldn't blame him for his aggressiveness.

I slowly walk into the room. "I-I'm sorry to bother you. Someone out front said something about the back room… and I heard talking… so I-I got curious." I try to avoid his irritated expression as I look around the room, thinking how dumb I sounded, stuttering like that. _You'd think I'd be used to it by now, growing up shy like I did._

I actually manage to ask a few questions about who those other men were, and he goes on about how he's a mercenary for hire. _That'd be nice, to have someone watching my unexperienced back out there while I look for Shaun._ But then he tells me his asking price. To be honest, I just learned that the metal bottlecaps off of cola bottles are used as currency these days—I dare not tell him I have none of these to my name. So, I just say, "…I don't know if I have that many." I dig around in a pouch on the leather armor I secured off a dead Raider, pretending to look. I think, _Maybe he'll come with me until I find more._ "Won't you take less?" I ask, hoping he'll say he will—but to no avail.

"I said it was not negotiable," he tells me, as I stare down at the floor, still avoiding his face. He continues, "It's not like I'm going anywhere soon anyway. If you get more caps, you know where to find me." I look up at him, excited he's practically saying he's willing to travel with me across the Commonwealth. But I looked up too quickly, too excitedly. I now feel like a complete imbecile, and it probably reads on my face like an open book. As soon as I see a small grin—almost too small to see—like he's aware of my pure awkwardness, I spin on my heel and make for the door. Yet, he never leaves my mind for the next month.

 _I'll be back,_ I thought. And so I was.


	4. Recollection

_A/N: I'd never posted it, but it has been a while since I've written in Kate's perspective, so that was a fun thing to do.  
Also, I was really wondering how it'd gone when MacCready left Duncan in the Capital Wasteland_— _how the boy responded to it all, how it was arranged that he'd stay with the Lone Wonderer, etc.  
I let my mind wander, and this is what it came up with :)_

* * *

Recollection

MacCready POV

I'm standing in front of the house where she lives. At least that's what I've been told. I raise my fist and knock on the door.

A man answers, with a straight razor in his hand, a bit of makeshift shaving cream on his chin. At first, I don't recognize him. Then I realize this must be Butch. I never talked to him, so it doesn't surprise me that he looks at me like I'm a stranger. I mean, it has been a good seven years since I saw him last.

"Is Kate here?" I ask him. He calls her name up the stairs to the right. As I hear someone moving around up there, I see recognition hit him. _He must know who I am now._

Kate comes down the stairs and sees me at the door. "Mayer MacCready?!" She calls, running up to me and throwing her arms around my back, too short to reach anything else. "What're you doing here?"

"You can just call me Robert. And I came to find you." I think of my actual reason and internally cringe.

"Well, come on in… Robert." She gestures to one of the chairs opposite a couch as she sits on the latter. Butch moves back to the kitchen to finish his shaving. "What brings you by? You said you came to find me?"

"Yeah."

"Is something wrong in Lamplight?" She face shows concern.

"No. Not that I know of anyway. I came for another reason." _How am I going to get this out?_

As she's about to open her mouth, I hear a lighter set of footsteps from upstairs. Making their way toward the staircase, I hear, "Who's here, Momma?"

A boy comes down and stands at the foot of the steps, looking at me with a curious gaze. Kate motions for him to sit next to her on the couch. "This is a friend of your dad and I. Say hi to Robert." He sits next to her and waves at me. "He's a bit shy sometimes," she tells me.

At this time, Butch has finished up and sits down next to her, casually throwing his arm on the back of the couch. "This is our son, Ellis," he informs me. "He turns six next week."

"Happy birthday, Ellis." I grin at him.

"Thanks." His reply is so quiet. "Can I go back upstairs and play?"

"Sure. Go on," Butch responds. After he's gone, he looks back to me. "So this is what the mayor of Little Lamplight looks like nowadays, huh?"

"I haven't been back there since I was fifteen. Left shortly after the last time I saw you two."

"You still had another year. Why so soon?" Kate asks.

"We had to get away. Biwwy was a good mayor, but he relied on me too much," I respond.

"So, Biwwy became mayor after you, huh?" She laughs only to stop and look at me with a quizzical look. "Wait. We? Who'd you leave with?" _Well, I guess it's inevitable._

"…Lucy." I struggle to get her name out—it's only been a couple years since—

"Ooh. Sounds like something came of you two! I wonder how that came to be. You know, I've always liked her. How's she doing?" She smiles with such innocence.

I look down, trying my best to keep it together. "She… didn't make it…"

"Not Lucy…" Kate breathes out. "I'm so sorry. If you don't mind me asking: when?"

"A couple years ago," I say, feeling the tears trying their best to escape. Sucking them back in, I continue, "Ghoul attack."

"I'm sorry," Butch chimes in as Kate continues to look appalled.

"Me, too." I can hear the edge in my voice creeping its way in. Determined to ignore it, I move on to the topic I came here for. "Anyway… Wasn't before we had a son, named Duncan." I see Kate's face of understanding. "That's why I was shocked but happy to see your son. I know the feeling of being a parent. Nothing like it, nothing can replace it."

"Nothing," she agrees. "How old is he?"

"He just turned five." They both smile, I assume remembering the time their son was that age. "And… he's the reason I'm here.

"You might have noticed he's not with me, now that you know about him." She nods. "Well… he's sick. He was just running around outside by the house we moved into after we left Big Town, when he falls down suddenly. The next morning, he has these… boils, these blue boils… all over him. He was too weak to even walk. I didn't dare bring him with me. He's really sick, and… I don't know how much longer it'll be until…

"Anyway, I spent the next few days, trying to think of what to do. Last I heard of, Red had left the Capital Wasteland. And since my wife was no longer with us, I didn't know who to get help from.

"I'm not sure why, but you were the first person I thought of. I remembered how you helped Lucy out in the clinic a few times, how good with kids you were. I had to find you. So I found someone that said you lived here in Megaton. And here I am. …I don't know who else to get advice from."

Both Kate and Butch look horrified, but she has most of my attention. She's staring at me, her face scrunched up in utter disbelief and sorrow. "I can't even imagine that… There has to be some kind of medicine that can help him."

"Maybe," I agree. "I heard that there's a cure up in the Commonwealth. But I don't know if it's true or not. How could I take Duncan with me, just to chase a rumour? If it's not there, and he gets hurt on the trip, I couldn't forgive myself…"

"Leave him here," Butch says.

"No, I can't just leave him. I mean the people in Arefu—around where we live—are nice, but—"

"No," Kate cuts in, while looking at her husband. "Leave him here with us." She looks back to me. "We can take care of him while you find that cure."

"No, I couldn't ask you guys to do that for me."

"You're not asking," Butch replies. "We're offering. And it seems like the best plan so far."

Kate picks up his statement where he left off. "You can't leave him alone, and it'd be best to not take him with you. We have a son, so we know how to take care of children already. Besides, it may do both of our kids good to be together. What do you say?"

I'm so overcome with emotion that I don't respond at first, gaining a worried look from both of them. Finally, I say, "You don't know how much that would mean to me." The tears I tried so hard to keep down earlier decide to make an appearance anyway. Kate stands and comes over to me, giving me a hug. "Thank you," I say earnestly.

"It's no problem," Butch says. "You can bring him any time you want. Even tomorrow. The earlier, the better, from the sound of things."

"You can stay here tonight and get him tomorrow, or you could travel tonight and have him here as early as tomorrow morning. Whatever you want." Kate stands up straight from her leaning down to give me her hug.

"I think I should go as soon as possible," I reply. "I'll have him here before the sun is."

"Alright," she says with a small grin.

* * *

Kate POV

"Now, when Duncan gets here, we don't know how long he's gonna be staying," Butch says to our son as he takes their breakfast bowls to the kitchen for me to wash later.

"I don't like babies," Ellis says with his lower lip jutting out. "I only like Jake and Betty."

"Ellis, what have I told you about pouting?" I call from the couch.

"To not to," he says, knowing he's been defeated. "But I don't want anyone else living with us!"

"Ellis James DeLoria. Do not make me come over there and whoop you. You know not to talk back to me." He just bows his head, not saying another word in fear I'll follow through.

Butch continues, "Well, we don't know how long his dad will be gone, so you need to be a good boy. Right?"

"'Kay…" Ellis still hasn't raised his head.

"Ellis, c'mere," I call. He comes over and falls down onto my lap. "You know your dad and I love you, right?" He nods. "And nobody is going to replace you?" He shrugs. "Well, it's true," I tell him. "Just because we're going to have Duncan for a little while, that doesn't mean that we're gonna stop loving you. You're still our son, no matter what. He's just going to need a place to stay and people to take care of him. Maybe you two will become friends. And he's not a baby—he's five." He gives me a look, telling me he still thinks five years old is baby age. "You'll get along. You'll see."

"Can I go upstairs and play now?"

"Yes, but you need to be back down here when they get here!" I call after him, as he had already taken off like a bat out of hell.

"Well, he seems excited," Butch says sarcastically as he brings me a mug of coffee and sits down next to me.

"You know it. How long do you think it'll be until they're here?"

"Robert sounded eager to get on the road, so it wouldn't surprise me any if it was soon." And as if he can see into the future, there's a knock on the door.

He goes to stand up, but I wave him back down. "I got it this time." As I open the door, I'm faced with quite the scene.

Robert is struggling to not drop the three bags on one shoulder, as he clings to a boy with his other arm. He sees me and embarrassedly smiles as he lets the bags go ahead and fall to the ground shifting his son in his arms.

"He hates being awake this early, so he slept on the way here." He nudges him softly. "We're here, buddy," he tells him. I offer to grab his bags on the ground, dragging them into the house as he walks ahead, still trying to wake Duncan. As the boy starts to come around, I finally get a good look at him.

He has brown hair and hazel eyes, both the colour of his mother's. Other than a few details, he mainly takes after his dad. However, I have a hard time looking at these details due to the two large boils on his face—one on his right cheek, the other on the left side of his forehead. As Robert had said last night, they're blue. _I wouldn't have believed if I hadn't seen it myself._

Duncan looks at me, Butch, then his dad. His expression is full of confusion and fear. "These are the nice people I told you about," Robert begins. "They're gonna be taking care of you while I'm gone."

Duncan grabs Robert as if he's falling—as vice tight as the five-year-old can manage. "Don't go!" His voice is so small, yet it's full of so much emotion, so much dread, that it's far more effective than yelling would have been.

"You know I have to, Duncan." Robert's voice sounds as if they've had this conversation more than once. "If I could take you, you know I would." Duncan's eyes start to well up with tears as his lower lip sticks out. It's just about the most heart wrenching face I've ever seen. "Don't look at me like that," Robert's voice breaks. "You know I don't wanna go." I see tears line the bottom of his eyelids, too. He hugs his son to his chest, the tears spilling over.

After a minute—Butch and I trying to give them as much privacy as we can in the small living room—Duncan pulls away from his dad and looks him in the eyes. His stare is so focused, so mature for five. He turns away from Robert and looks at me. Robert connects the dots and decides to introduce us to his son.

"Guys—this is Duncan." He looks at the boy. "Say hi."

Duncan looks from me to my husband, smiling ever so slightly, and quietly says, "Hi," before shyly looking away, around the house.

Robert continues, "Duncan, these are my two good friends, Kate and Butch. They've known me for a long time—your mom, too." Duncan perks up at the mention of his mother. "Yeah," Robert confirms. "They've known us both for a good eight or so years now. That's a little more than two times older than you are. Cause you're how old?"

Duncan shyly smiles again, looking down at the floor. "Four… No, five! I'm a big boy now." He grins proudly.

"That's right, you are," his dad agrees. "You are a big boy. Out of the baby years, huh, buddy?" His son nods. Looking back at us, "How about you talk to them? They don't bite." He steps closer to us, showing Duncan how harmless we are. "See?"

Duncan finally faces us head on, and asks right away, "You knew Mommy?"

"We did," Butch says as he comes up behind me to get a better look at the boy for the first time. "Kate knew her better, though." His eyes widen a little when he sees the boils up close.

Duncan turns to me, a sort of fire in his eyes, a fire I never knew a preschool-aged child could have. He asks, "What colour were her eyes? I can't remember." Robert takes a shaky breath, the tears again threatening to fall from his lower lids.

Trying my best to make sure he doesn't notice his dad's reaction to the touchy subject, I answer quickly. "They were the colour your eyes are—a beautiful hazel-brown. You have her eyes. So everytime you see a reflection of yourself, you can see her eyes, too."

He grins, happy a piece of her is still here. "I miss her. We used to play all the time, but… I don't remember what games we played."

"They'll come to you," I lie. _Shame this child won't remember much of his own mother after a few years…_

Butch looks at Robert. Changing the subject, "Do you think I should go get…?"

Robert's confused for a moment, but then understands he meant our son. He nods as Butch disappears upstairs.

When they come back down, Butch stands behind Ellis with his hands on his shoulders—a reminder to behave. Going closer to Duncan, I motion to the other boy in the room. "Duncan, this is our son. His name is Ellis."

"Hey," Ellis says a bit spitefully after Butch squeezes his shoulder. Duncan can already feel apprehension in the air and just waves, looking a bit scared.

"He promised he'd be good," I tell both Duncan and Robert, since the latter's face shows some concern.

However, Ellis shrugs out from his father's grasp, blowing up, and instantly breaking that promise. "I already said it: I don't want a baby living with us! It's not fair!"

"Ellis!" I chide.

Duncan almost cuts me off, not look scared anymore, but actually angry. "I'm not a baby! I'm a big boy now, you meanie!"

"Oh, yeah?" Ellis challenges. "What makes you think that?"

"Cause I have gooder toys than you!"

With his fit being thrown to the side a little bit, Ellis asks, "Well, what kind do you got to be better than mine?"

He says, "I got some cool cars," his small face still showing anger.

"I have some cool cars, too…" After a moment, his annoyance having faded already, "Want to play with them?"

Duncan looks taken aback yet happily so. "Yeah." He tugs on Robert's duster to be let down to get his toys. Confusedly, Robert bends down instead—still holding his son—and grabs a couple toy cars from Duncan's bag.

"C'mon, they're up here," Ellis says as he runs up the steps. Still confused, Robert follows him with Duncan and his cars. After a minute, he comes back, looking even more baffled than when he went up.

"What just happened?" He mumbles.

"Hey, sorry about Ellis," I apologize. "He never acts like this. I don't understand why he's acting out—he gets along great with other kids."

"He's jealous—well _was_. Maybe not now. We'll see," Butch says. Looking at Robert, "Duncan is one tough kid. He wasn't afraid to stand up for himself—at five and while sick. He's tough," he repeats. "He's gonna be just fine."

"I hope so…" Robert looks down to the floor.

"He will," I agree. "He couldn't have a better dad. And we're not letting anything happen to him while he's here. He'll be fine."

Robert looks up at me, then at Butch. His expression shifts from uncertainty to determination. "Yes, he will." He nods. "Now, I need to go get that cure. Be right back." He heads up the stairs again.

Not trying to eavesdrop, but still able to hear their conversation, it goes like this:

"Duncan, I'm gonna go now.  
"But we just got here."  
"No, you can stay here. That was our plan, remember?"  
"Oh, yeah."  
"So… you be good, okay?"  
"Okay, Dad."  
"Still have that note I gave you earlier?"  
"Yeah. Right here."  
"I'll be back soon. Son, I love you."  
"I love you, too, Dad! Be careful out there."  
"Always am."

As Robert comes back down the stairs, he looks more sure about this decision than ever before. "I'm gonna come back in a few months if I haven't found it yet. I can't be gone that long without him—with him like this especially."

"Completely understandable," Butch coincides.

I say, "We'll see you then. Maybe we can find a way to write to each other once you get there."

"Sounds good," he nods. Coming closer he gives us both a hug. "Thank you so much for doing this. You have no idea how much it means to me—how much it'd mean to _her_ …"

"You don't need to thank us. Hey, if the shoe was on the other foot…" I don't bother to finish my statement.

He smiles, grabs one of the three bags on the floor, and moves to the door. "I'll see you guys later." He slips out, closing it behind him.

From upstairs, I can hear the boys playing with their cars, arguing lightly over who's would be fastest if they were real.

 _They're gonna be inseparable soon…_


End file.
